


Picturesque

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Episode Related, Fluff, No Slash, Points of View, Romance, Season/Series 01, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-11
Updated: 2004-02-11
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: There was something about living in his boyfriend's best friend-for-fifteen-years' old bedroom that made Justin incredibly horny.





	Picturesque

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

This is set before the bashing, quite obviously, but after 104 where Michael gives Brian his "where you can not fuck Justin" speech. I'd like to think this is in about the same time-frame as the infamous "ice cream kiss" a couple of episodes later, but the two don't really fit together seamlessly or anything. 

Also, some of the postulations about Brian's past are made from the two QaF novels, "Every Nine Seconds" and "Never Tear Us Apart". Similarly, this is kind of foreshadow-y. I think the rating is kind of harsh, but since it has the word "cock" used in the same sentence as "ass" a couple of times, it is probably better to be safe than sorry.

* * *

There was something about living in his boyfriend's best friend-for-fifteen-years' old bedroom that made Justin incredibly horny.

He was pretty sure the Captain Astro-themed decor and his own collection of blue hoodies didn't contribute to this feeling, though. It was more the idea that Brian (a much younger Brian) had once frequented this room, sharing Michael's bed, jabbering about comics, and hiding out when he had nowhere else to go. The irony was not lost on Justin. Brian had left his mark on this room, unintentionally or not, and its occupants could not help but notice. 

Michael was not only a collector, Justin realized on the first afternoon that he'd decided to explore; he was also a fucking pack-rat. The shelves, the closet, even under the bed contained artifacts and mementos that, for one reason or another, had not made the journey when Michael moved out of his mother's house. In retrospect, Justin mused, it was likely because Michael would never stray far from Debbie's flamboyant-yet-protective wing for more than a week at a time. Still, *he* would have considered the visual memories of his life a bit more important than that, and not left them lying around in magic marker-labeled shoeboxes collecting dust (if he'd had a choice in the matter, what with the recent falling out with his father and all).

This was precisely the justification the blond boy used for snooping around in said boxes; if Michael hadn't wanted *somebody* to peek at them, he decided, then they wouldn't have still been here. 

He started under the bed (probably the same mattress where Brian and Michael had their infamous interrupted wank-off session to "Dirty Dancing", Justin thought giddily); Justin set a few boxes of comics aside for possible perusal later on. Many of them were, in fact, with Michael, but a few containers of excess had been left behind. Eventually, Justin's rummaging led him to a large, low-to-the-ground container filled with photo albums, yearbooks, and even a couple of rolls of pictures that Michael had probably meant to albumatise someday but had never gotten around to. 

Perfect.

Feeling a bit like an archaeologist, uncovering the secrets of the past that Brian merely alluded to when he was drunk or in a revealing mood (which usually corresponded with when he was high), Justin dug through the contents of the box and pulled out the yearbooks. He started with the one dated the furthest back; Brian (and Michael) would have been fourteen. He flipped through the table of contents, eager to see as much of his boyfriend as a frosh as he could. 

He wasn't to be disappointed; 'Kinney, Brian' had five separate entries in the first yearbook alone, not counting the collage-type pages that introduced and ended each class. Brian's standard school photo was typically dorky - even though the dark-haired boy that stared back at Justin had the same sly-yet-dazzling smile and eyes that crinkled in the corners as his (almost!) thirty-year-old lover, there was an aura of innocence and vulnerability that present-day Brian had long since gotten rid of (or at least, kept well-hidden in the closet). Brian had been tall for his age, even back then, Justin noted, but the lanky frame and baggy t-shirt he'd worn that day were nothing compared to Brian's bronzed, toned limbs and Gucci collection today. Still, Justin thought, if we'd gone to school together, I totally would have made out with him. 

The other four photos were all of Brian posing with teams or groups. His inclusion in the boys' soccer team and track-and-field did not surprise Justin; seeing Brian's fourteen-year-old visage above a blocky caption that read "Chemistry Club", however, did. "And French club?" Justin muttered, cracking a grin. He'd have to make a point to ask (well, tease) the man about that later.

Michael's sophomore and junior yearbooks were similar fanfare. Michael did not seem to have been athletically inclined like his best friend, nor was he terribly popular; the inside covers of his yearbooks were riddled with obligatory "have a nice summer" niceties, save for Brian's entry that took up nearly half a page in his familiar flowing script (it was good to know that some things never changed). Justin also noticed that the two boys were almost always spotted together in the collage pages. Brian always looked so no-nonsense in them, too; Michael probably felt safe with him, Justin reflected. 

Michael and Brian's senior yearbook was emblazoned with the mascot of their school in gold embossment; 'Michael Novotny' was also written in the top right-hand corner in similar fashion. Inside, Brian's continued achievements were high-lighted; at seventeen, he'd scored a full-ride scholarship for athletics, even though he could have gotten in on grades alone. He appeared to have dropped both Chem Club and the French language study; probably because of the demands of being the star soccer player, Justin decided. He eventually flipped to the Prom section of the yearbook, unable to resist. 

The scenery was stereotypically romantic and overdone, judging from the photos of the event. Running fingertips over their glossy finish, the blond artist's eyes roved for Brian, finally glimpsing him near the corner of the page dancing with Michael. Brian never talked about any repercussions he'd suffered from being a gay teen, Justin realized. He wondered how Brian had dealt with it, and how his peers had reacted. 'Probably didn't stop every female from having a crush on him,' Justin thought ruefully, noting some of the more peculiar looks the teenage boys in the picture were earning.

Still, Justin thought, mouth upturned in a goofy smile, the image of Brian and him dancing together at his own Prom was a very entertaining one. Just the two of them dancing in each other's arms to some schmoopy, outdated song, whirling around the floor like the old pros that only frequent Babylon sessions could turn out. It was a great fantasy; the collaborative student and faculty body of St. James would turn on its ear! Justin grinned, and then was jolted out of his silly daydream by a knock on the door. 

"Come in," he called, figuring it was Debbie or Vic. He carefully replaced the books in the box and was shoving it back under the bed when Brian walked in. "What are you doing here?" Justin queried, surprised.

"Deb invited Mikey and I over for dinner for shits and giggles," Brian shrugged. "She said you'd be up here, whacking off or doing your homework or something." He grinned, and Justin felt his face automatically return the expression. The dark-haired man looked at the still-upturned corner of Michael's old Captain Astro bedspread and raised an eyebrow. "Looting Mikey's stuff?" he teased.

"Hardly," Justin snorted, rising to his feet and sashaying over to Brian, who was still wearing a more dressed-down, tie-less version of his work clothes. Justin licked his lips, suddenly turned on by Brian's close proximity. "I was just looking at some of his old pictures. There's tons of you in there," he said breathily.

Brian caught on pretty quickly but merely gave the blond a potential half-smile. "You'd know a lot about 'old', kid," he sniffed, only half-joking.

Justin's cheeks reddened a bit as he stalled, trying to save face; Brian could be so goddamned sensitive about his age. "I think you're still pretty hot," he offered, giving the brunet a hopeful lopsided grin. 

It worked. "You do, do you?" Brian smirked, deliberately snaking a hand out to toy with the collar of Justin's shirt; the boy had not yet changed out of his St. James uniform, either. "Well, what are we going to do with that information?"

And then he pulled Justin to him, snagging his lips in a hard kiss, making it difficult to respond. Clothing was quickly removed, mouths were bruised from the pressure of being crushed against cheeks and necks and even each other, and hands roved freely. 

"You know," Brian gasped as he fell on top of Justin on the bed, condom already rolled onto his dick and fingers steadily preparing his lover's ass for entry. "Mikey told me I'm not supposed to fuck you in his room anymore."

"Yeah," Justin groaned headily, both in response to Brian's words and the older man's thrusting into him. "But it's my room, now."

-*-

"Jesus, could you two be any *more* obvious?" Michael groaned in disgust as Brian and Justin sauntered downstairs, looking flushed and satiated.

"Why, Michael", Brian grinned condescendingly while adjusting his hastily put-on shirt collar. "I don't know *what* you're talking about."

"Whatever," Michael spat, returning his best friend's gaze with one that attempted to look furious, but eventually settled for perturbed. He knew it was a lost cause; it was impossible to stay mad at Brian Kinney for long.

"Hey, Brian," Justin whispered as soon as Michael was out of earshot. "Next time, we should do it in *your* childhood bedroom." The glint in his eye made Brian smile, despite himself.

"That would require going to my parents' house, something I stopped doing as soon as I had an excuse to legally get away," he replied dryly, reaching for a glass of water on the table. "Besides, I don't think they want to be there when their faggot son fucks his latest trick." 

"Well, then, I guess we'll have to sneak in," Justin said lasciviously, taking a bite out of his dinner roll and looking completely unfazed.

Brian groaned; since when had this upstart kid become a bigger pervert than him? "Alright," he finally said before Michael's Big-Q chatter overtook the dinner table conversation. "But this time, no digging around for souvenirs."


End file.
